


asking the wrong questions

by raritysdiamonds



Category: Indie Music RPF, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raritysdiamonds/pseuds/raritysdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not often you get two of Alex Turner's exes in the same room at once." --NME photo caption, 2012.</p>
<p>or: in a haze of booze, middle fingers, metaphorical elephants and complicated feelings, Miles and Alexa come to an understanding. Of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	asking the wrong questions

**Author's Note:**

> This exists because of NME's suggestive captioning and...reasons. written about a year ago, now posting here for archive purposes and on the off chance that somebody might enjoy it, yay! c:
> 
> originally posted at/written for milexthestories.tumblr.com. (a wonderful place of delightful people that I wholeheartedly recommend if you enjoy Miles/Alex or TLSP fic, yo)

It’s a considerable amount of time since the NME Awards wrapped up; the music is loud, the drinks are flowing and already Miles has declared his love for people he met just an hour or two ago. Which he takes as a sign it’s been a good night.

 The conversation around him buzzes, consisting mainly of “d’y’know what I mean, mate?”, “fucking  _mega_ ” and “yeah, definitely would”. There’s also several bronze middle fingers displayed prominently on the table, with the occasional drunken threat that one (or more) of them will be going up someone’s arse  _right now_  if they don’t shut up. (Or an offer, possibly. Miles isn’t sure, but he’s sure he doesn’t want to find out.)

 Inevitably, it all gets a bit blurry, and it’s not til there’s a raucous cheer, and someone slaps him hard on the back that Miles realises he’s just agreed to get the next round in. Optimistic, perhaps, but fuck it – it’s a celebration – so he heads for the bar with a purposeful stride, coming to a halt moments later when he sees the size of the queue.

 He’s not sure how long he’s been there, drumming his fingers impatiently, when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

 “Can’t get the service, can you?”

 Miles spins round, and sure enough, the voice belongs to one Alexa Chung.

 “Fucking hell, hello!” He hopes the surprise in his voice sounds like a pleasant one, as they exchange a slightly awkward hug – it wasn’t that he hadn’t known she was here, he’d spotted her backstage a few times. He just hadn’t exactly planned for the conversation. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here…”

“No, I know, I’ve been busy – but anyway, how are you? It’s been…”

 “Too long, I know,” Miles finishes for her. “I’m great, yeah – it’s been crazy here. Good night. What about you?”

“I’m good too, been, you know…working.” Alexa sounds a bit vague, but he can’t blame her – he couldn’t tell you  _exactly_ what he’s been doing for the last couple of hours either.

 The guy on her other side is jostling impatiently, so Miles jerks his head to indicate they should move to a (comparatively) quieter spot.

 Slipping off to the side, she continues, “I wanted to say, though – you should have won. Next year?”

Well, there’s one thing they can agree on. “Next year, exactly,” Miles nods emphatically. “Next year, Alexa, I intend on winning  _all_  the awards. Best album, band, artwork…book…”

 “…and Sexiest Female, yeah?” she laughs. “Although, may I say, you  _are_ rocking that eyeliner tonight.”

 He grins, secretly pleased. “It’s the look, you know…And you’re looking lovely, as always.”

“Oh, thanks –“ She looks away, distracted by something, and Miles follows her gaze to a couple of photographers, pointing their instruments in their direction. Instinctively, they both stop to smile and pose, and as the cameras click away he slings his arm around her, pushing their heads closer together as they both pull cheesy grins. The snappers seem, for some reason, to like that.

 When they’ve moved on, Alexa turns to look at him coyly. “Careful. People might…you know, talk when they see those.”

 “Really?” Miles looks her up and down, his arm still draped around her shoulders. He lowers his voice to a sultry murmur. “Well, then – you want to give them something to talk about?”

He can’t seem to stop the words pouring out – flirting is second nature, however inappropriate the circumstances. But he’s relieved when she just laughs and wriggles away, elbowing him playfully.

 “Behave, you. What would Suki say?”

 Suki? Oh. “It’s not really…we’re not serious,” he shrugs. “Just a bit of fun, you know?”

“Hmm,” Alexa frowns, affecting a stern schoolteacher pose. “As long as _she_ knows that. I don’t want you breaking her heart.”

Miles gives her his best “ _who, me?_ ” innocent look. “As if I could. What about you, anyway?” He glances around, noting the area is distinctly less packed than it was. “Hiding from Justin?”

 “Justin?” Alexa looks confused, then after a beat, she gets it. “ _Oh_  – oh, fuck off. God, no. He wishes. Maybe.” She laughs, slightly uneasily.

 “But seriously, there’s no one. I’m not here for that, tonight.”

 There’s a pause, during which the elephant isn’t so much in the room as it is wedged between them, slurping beer through its trunk.

 Miles thinks this situation calls for tact and sensitivity, but unfortunately, alchohol tends to rob him of these capacities, which might explain why he hears himself blurt out:

 “Do you miss him?”

 Alexa blinks, slightly taken aback, but also – he thinks – relieved, because someone had to say it at some point. The elephant is gone, to do…whatever elephants do. Miles’ drunken brain can’t process metaphors too well.

 “I…” She hesitates, lost for words, and –  _fuck_  – Miles is a terrible person. The worst in the room, and there’s stiff competition.

 “Sometimes,” she admits, finally, breaking eye contact to examine the contents of her glass. “A bit.”

 A long pause, punctuated only by the sounds of drink pouring. Miles wishes it was his.

 “Sorry, we don’t have to –“

 “No, really, it’s fine-“

 They smile awkwardly at each other, and Alexa continues, “We can talk about it. Him. Alex, I mean.” She pulls a slight face, like it’s a particularly filthy swear word. “So…how is he?”

 Miles shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t seen him for a while – good, probably. In America.”

Maybe the right answer is  _he misses you_ , but he doesn’t even know if that’s true, and…well, for a number of reasons, his mouth just doesn’t want to form those words.

 “Oh yeah, of course. Probably having fun, then,” Alexa smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

 “Yeah, the lucky bastard,” Miles agrees, attempting a smile himself that comes out more like a grimace. He hopes Alex, wherever he is,  _isn’t_  having fun at this precise moment, because it’s all his fault they’re here and having  _this_ conversation.

 “So I don’t suppose he’d have…” Alexa picks up her glass, drains it. “No, sorry, ridiculous – because of the…Well, you know.”

Miles knows – of course he knows where she’s heading – but his stomach is churning, from the alcohol and God knows what else, and he’s not sure he can do this now.

“Not really – look, I’m not taking sides or anything. I know Al’s my mate, but…”

 “No, but,” Apparently he’s playing dumb quite well, because she’s starting to sound exasperated. “But can we -  it’s not like that, is it? He’s not  _just_  your mate.”

 Miles’ head jerks back, an automatic reflex to check there’s no one listening in. But the throng seems to have moved on, there’s no one within hearing distance, and she’s holding his gaze and she  _knows_.

 Miles sighs, runs a hand through his hair; there’s not much use playing dumb any more. He glances around one more time, keeping his voice low. “How did you know?”

 “A friend of mine heard you were…” Alexa tails off, clearly not sure how to put it.

 Miles isn’t sure either, never has been – it’s his and Alex’s indefinable  _thing_. “Friends with benefits” doesn’t quite cover it – “friends with benefits when they’re drunk enough and a fuckton of messy inconvenient  _feelings_ ”, possibly.

 “She wasn’t sure, not completely. But I thought, well…” Alexa turns to look at him head-on, and her eyes are challenging him to deny it. “It was kind of always there.”

 “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, shifting awkwardly. “It’s a bit…complicated.”

 “Tell me about it,” Alexa smiles wryly, and – no, Miles is definitely not ready for this conversation. He’s about to think of an excuse, anything, to disappear back into the crowd. But then she speaks:

 “It’s you he wants, you know. Always was.”

 It’s the way she says it – no malice or sadness in her voice, just a simple statement of fact, like a weather report – that makes his stomach flip involuntarily. A stab of pleasure he shouldn’t really be feeling, full of hope and promise and things that really don’t belong, that are  _too much_. For a minute, Miles thinks he might actually be sick, right there on the bar.

 But he isn’t, and he knows, deep down, that he can’t let himself believe that, that it’s just that simple, because it’s  _not_ , and they’re not. Alexa might know, now – but she doesn’t  _know_. Come to that, Miles no longer has any idea what the fuck his own head is doing.

 She’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response, and he can only shake his head. “No, ‘Lexa – he doesn’t know what he wants. Never has.”

 “Maybe,” she concedes, running her finger around the rim of her now-empty wine glass. “But then, you know, do any of us? Do you?”

 It’s a bit philosophical to wrap his head around, at this time with this much drink – but she’s right, annoyingly. Part of him has absolutely no idea. He wants it all. And he wants it now. Fucking hell, now he’s singing Queen in his head.

 But the part that scares Miles more is the one that does know what he wants. And when he thinks about it – he  _doesn’t_ think about it – it’s like standing on a precipice because he’s not supposed to, not  _allowed_  to. Because there’s every chance it will fuck up everything that’s ever been good in his life.

 “Do  _you_?” he counters, lamely.

 “Not really,” Alexa says. “I thought I did for a while, but then things…changed. Not sure I do now.”

 “But I do think that – if  _you_  do – you should tell him.”

 She makes it sound so simple. Tell him  _what?_  When? How? There’s any number of reasons why he shouldn’t, maybe one why he should, but Miles can’t articulate any of them right now.

 “You think?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I do.” Despite his best efforts, he guess some kind of  _are you giving me permission to shag your ex_ incredulousness must show on his face, because she continues, “It’s okay, you know. Me and Alex, we were…I knew he wasn’t…“ 

 She pauses, her voice softening. “We wanted different things. But I’m okay with that – now – and I’m okay with… _this_. Whatever your thing is. I know him pretty well, and even when he’s being a stupid fuck –“

“Which is most of the time,” Miles supplies, helpfully, and they exchange world-weary smiles.

 “…most of the time, yes. But it’s  _you,_ and you’ve always – I don’t know – it’s like, special. Isn’t it?” Alexa shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which is slightly unnerving because – well, Miles knew subtlety was never really his strongest point, but it’s like  _everyone_  knew. Except him.

 “He  _is_  a stupid fuck,” he agrees, shaking his head, and yet there’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He catches Alexa’s eye, and her expression is knowing, but not in a sad or accusing way. In a way that tells him, somehow, that she  _is_  okay with this. And maybe he is, too. In a weird, it’s-entirely-possible-this-conversation-never-actually-happened way.

 “Yep. But he’s your stupid fuck now, not mine.”

 Miles is searching for a suitable response to that when, suddenly, he feels his phone vibrate. He pulls it out, scanning the screen, but the light is too dim to make out the name.

 He can sense Alexa’s dying to know who it is – specifically, if it’s Alex (which would be ridiculously cliché, but then he does know what tonight is, and he hasn’t heard from him in a while – not that he’s been thinking about it or anything) – but he slides the phone casually back into his pocket, deciding to let her sweat.

 “Hey, ‘Lex?”

 “Yeah?”

 “Just wanted to say, if you ever want to go out with any of  _my_  exes, you have my blessing,” he assures her, generously, and she snorts.

 “What – like Suki, you mean?”

 “ _Definitely_ wouldn’t object to that,” Miles smirks, on more familiar conversational territory. Alexa rolls her eyes, starting to say something back, but then she stops and nods over his shoulder.

 “Looks like I might have competition.”

 He turns, to see Suki a short distance behind them, talking to a tall blond guy. Miles supposes that’s his cue.

 “Right, yeah, I should probably –“

 “Me too, actually. I’ve been far too long,“ She bends down to pick up something at her feet. “But listen, great to see you – keep in touch, yeah? And let me know if anything…” She widens her eyes meaningfully. “Well, you know.”

Miles knows – after tonight he knows all too well – but he pulls her in for a hug anyway. “’Course, yeah – great to see you too. You stay beautiful.”

 She heads off, but stops midway, turning her head to check he’s still there. “Oh, Miles?”

  “Yeah?”

 “When you see him, tell him…” Her words are almost lost in the crowd, now steadily filling up again, but he thinks he catches a “Tell him I told you so.”

Miles grins, blows her a kiss in response, and then he’s left with an empty glass and a lovely view of Suki  _still_ deep in conversation with that guy.

 Watching them, though, he doesn’t feel too much. A flicker of irritation –  _him_ , really? – but no surge of jealousy, no desire to storm over and punch him in the face. Luckily, since he’s about a foot taller than Miles.

 He should go over anyway, probably, but his phone is buzzing again, insistently, and for some reason,  _that_ fills him with anticipation for something he doesn’t quite understand.

 He slides his fingers over it, contemplating his next move – he doesn’t want to look at the phone now, even if he could make it out, he’d have to go outside. But the prospect of finding out is starting to seem more attractive than the many drinks he’s supposed to be buying for many people, even though it’s cold and he doesn’t even know  _what_  it is he’s waiting for exactly.

But it’s been that kind of night, and  _maybe_ …

Putting his glass down decisively, Miles heads through the crowd and out the door to take his call, without a backwards look.

 


End file.
